This is the posting page for a group of unfamous writers who would like to ink a name for ourselves in the vast expanse that is the literary kingdom. All work posted on this site is the exclusive intellectual property of the contributing author.
UPDATES WEEKLY, USUALLY SUNDAYS.

Search This Blog

February 22, 2011

Safe Haven - Mean Guy and the Rotting Cure

[...posted by Ted H]

I swear to God I hate doing the beginnings of stories. It takes me longer to do that part than any other section. This one was especially excruciating since I (sober) also had to keep asking myself "What would 3 drunk idiots say to each other right before work?"Throw in how things have been a bit busy for me lately and youll understand why I havent been around for a week...my fantasy baseball team isnt drafting itself ya know*Anyway, I got one more intro thing to labor through and then I can really get this thing rolling.

(*-actually, it can draft itself, but then Id have a crappy roster because the autodraft would give me overrated and useless players...and Miguel Cabreras drunken ass...and a pitching staff thatll rely on Raphael Soriano for saves. So in a way, my team cant draft itself, because my autodraft is a moron)

enjoy...

..........................................

[Safe Haven - Mean Guy and the Rotting Cure]

Jake didn’t stay long. He rarely did. Patrick enjoyed the visits yet understood why they had to be so short, Jake wasn’t suppose to be here. He wasn’t suppose to be in the city. He was a Rogue, unwanted, banished. If the ResEs ever found out he frequented the church, Patrick would be in a world of trouble as well. That’s why Jake never says too much regarding how he gets into the city or what business he has, and Patrick never inquires.

Patrick resides inside a collapsing church, dresses like a priest and acts every bit of the part. There were no living priests left when he arrived to Safe Haven, and pretending to be one had given him purpose after he had already lost everything. It seemed awkward at first, but everyone eventually got used to the act. There were a few people he knew before that had survived with him and for the most part they accepted the role Patrick was filling. Jake had been different though. Jake knew him before the apocalypse and still to this day treated him the same as he had back then. No masked respect, no unanswerable questions about Gods will and certainly no discussions involving the bible. Patrick was still an atheist. He was merely placating to the masses, using his own sense of morality as a guide.

Jake knew this, and so Patrick felt less like a fraud when he was around. He wasn’t sure if it was the same with Jake. Rogues weren’t known to still keep any sort of personal relationships in Safe Haven, too risky, but Jake had made it a point to visit Patrick in the church as often as he could. Those visits had become more and more sporadic and Patrick was beginning to wonder if Jake was becoming jaded to his old predicament and accepting to his current one.

Jake had become to de facto navigator for the perilous trip to Safe Haven and had to make a lot of tough decisions along the way. Some necessary calls were made and some that were bad decisions with hind sight. Those who survived the trip suffering from survivors guilt began to harbor their anger towards him as a result. Afterwards, few remained close to Jake if not becoming downright hostile to him, and he eventually got himself kicked out of the city.

Today, the two men had talked about random events for a while before Jake had decided it was time to leave. On his way out the front doors he turned back and hesitated. “I don’t know when I’ll be back,” he said “try not to die in the meantime.” This concerned Patrick, but Jake didn’t wait for a reaction and was gone. “Why would he say that?” he said as he was left alone. Being away for long stretches of time was nothing new for Jake. Was he going to go a longer stretch of time before returning? Were the Rogues not planning to enter the city anymore? Was Jake just playing around? Patrick had no answers, as usual, and he couldn’t fake his way to an appropriate answer.

--------------------

“We have to go to work now,” Kyle said as he rushed to finish his glass. “Why you gotta rush that shit?” Nick asked as he remained in his relaxed, laid out position on a couch, beer in hand. “Why rush? This coming from a guy who chugged down his last three beers like he was about to die,” Brad said from across the room as he pulled out a fresh beer for himself and opened it. “It’s called filling the gas tank,” Nick said with a drunken chuckle.

“That made absolutely no sense.”

“Shut up…ya pirate.”

“Yeah, you’re drunk.”

“Well, I sure as hell can't work sober.”

Kyle, Nick and Brad were all best friends who met in college. Kyle was a big guy who spent more time upside down on a keg than he did in a school desk. Brad was usually right with Kyle at parties, if not in a shady hidden area smoking up weed whenever he had the dime to spare for it. Nick was a proud recipient of Affirmative Action despite spending as many days in juvenile incarcerations as he did in church. Brad and Kyle weren’t even sure if “Nick” was his real name since he claimed to avoid everything about his past since his parents were, as he put it, “fucking assholes and I hate them.” The three milked as much of the college experience as they could, though only Brad managed to graduate.

They all had trouble holding jobs in their post-college-pre-apocalypse lives and usually wasted their time at a local bar. So when the dead started walking again and society fell, they didn’t really lose out on much. They managed to survive and stuck close together even after making it to Safe Haven.

Kyle and Nick enrolled as Residential Enforcers to take advantage of the unique benefits provided. They were morally ambiguous and didn’t mind the perceived “bad guys” label that ResEs often get. Brad would have joined too, but he was injured during his journey to Safe Haven and was blinded in his right eye, which he keeps a makeshift eye patch over. Brad chose to instead work for the ResEs by providing inventory on seized contraband.

“Seized contraband” usually constituted weapons, drugs, alcohol and any other vice that Safe Haven deemed inappropriate. It originally was Brads job to record every item that was handed in and ensuring that it was promptly and properly destroyed. After a while though, when it became evident that there was no authority that would reprimand the ResEs, Brad would instead filter the items throughout the ranks as he saw fit, Nick and Kyle getting choice selection of coarse.

The three, like all ResEs, lived in the central Hub located in the center of Safe Haven. It was the only place in the city that ran electricity, or air conditioning or offered complete shelter from the elements. The energy was generated from solar panels on the roof of the Hub and the system it utilizes was never designed to power an entire city, so it was only used for the Hub which already provided a strain on the system.

The three lived in comfort in the Hub and only ventured into the city when their shifts as ResEs require them to. All ResEs were also required to patrol in the few hours after curfew started to ensure all inhabitants were off the streets. All were also required to check in via radio to command to ensure they were actually doing their jobs.

“Come on, seriously,” Kyle said as he walked over and smacked Nicks leg “You know how Janky likes to tattle.” Nick sighed and reluctantly rolled off the couch. “Fucking gimp,” he mumbled as Kyle passed him a rifle and a headset radio and the two marched down a staircase and into a hallway.

“Mean Guy and Rotting Cure reporting for duty,” Kyle said into his radio as the two walked out into the streets. Kyle always thought it was a mistake letting all the ResEs pick their own call signs. It beat the hell out of being called a number though, so he never complained.

“You guys seem to be late again, gonna have to report this,” the radio operator said back. “Fuck you, Janky,” Nick barked into his radio. “Chill out, dude,” Kyle said “At worst the boss man will bitch over the radio but don’t give this cripple the satisfaction of hearing you lose your temper.” Nick nodded then spoke into his radio again “True, and at least I can still walk.”

“Real fucking original,” Janky responded. “You’re so pathetic,” Nick continued “Even if you had both your legs, you still wouldn’t be able to kick any ass, let alone tap some.” Kyle tried to resist the urge to laugh at that one. “Could you guys stop bickering?” another enforcer said over the radio “There’s the one fucking channel we have here and I’d rather not listen to you two arguing all night.”

“Right, at least don‘t start this early,” Kyle said as Nick rolled his eyes. “Just check in on time next time,” Janky said “and remember, all units, we’ve got possible Rogues running around in the northwest sector,” Janky said, moving passed the harassments of Nick.

“Wanna go check it out?” Kyle asked. “Fucking right I wanna,” Nick responded “Either that or I hope we catch someone breaking curfew if you know what I mean.” Kyle smiled. Partnering up with Nick was trying at times, but it was rarely boring. “I’d rather find some Rogues cuz I heard some of them are interested in my early retirement special,” he said as he raised his rifle in the air.

“Knock, knock,” Nick said.

“Whose there?”

“Bunch of faggot ass Rogues wanting a fatal case of lead poisoning.” Both men laughed.